A Final Word
by SLE23
Summary: This letter was found in the home of Jeremy Fitzgerald shortly after his death. The police have yet to make a statement on the contents of the letter and the package it was found in, but Channel 7 News has gotten an exclusive look at the letter for our readers. [Author Warning: this story contains content that some readers may find objectionable. Reader discretion is advised.]


I never wanted to work at this place. The animatronics always had freaked me out. Ever since I was a kid, the entire restaurant had always felt off and even scary at times. The worst of them was that rabbit. The faded purple fabric is falling apart and it's arm is missing. It doesn't even have a face. Yet for some godforsaken reason, the company has told my manager's manager to keep it in the back storage room. I guess for spare parts, maybe? But then why does it still have batteries in it? Surely somebody has told somebody about those rundown pieces of junk walking around.

Let me back up. My name is Jeremy Fitzgerald. I work at the New-And-Improved Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. The old restaurant (if you can call it a restaurant) of the same name closed down about five or six years back. There was some sort of accident or murder involving a guard there and it was real big with the local news networks. A lot of the reporters were speculating suicide or a really complex murder, I don't remember. I was too busy doing schoolwork and getting the shit kicked outta me by the jocks my freshman year to care. Fast-forward about four years and I'm graduating with honors and a most-of-the-way scholarship to the college or university of my choice. Note the use of "most". Not "full", but "most". And "most" is what got me stuck here and being tormented by old nightmares.

I needed a job. Plain and simple. It didn't need to be a full-on job, just something to get me through to my bachelor's in computer engineering. Crappy thing is that I live in a semi-small town with almost no jobs that fit that description. We don't even have a McDonald's. What the hell kind of backwards town doesn't have a McDonald's? My town, apparently. However, we did have the New-And-Improved Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, where magic and fun come to life for children of all ages and where the ball-pits are just riddled with human feces. It's a kid's indoor playground, what do you expect? It's just my luck they're hiring and it's the only job that doesn't involve being groped by grubby men while club music plays. So, I swallow my fear, go in, get to the interview, give the barest of answers, get a background check, and bing bang boom, I'm the new night guard. I work the graveyard shift, 12AM to 6AM. If something goes wrong with the creepy-ass machines, I call the repair company. If somebody breaks in, I call the cops. I don't even get pepper spray, I get a flashlight and a phone that barely works. I guess that when you consider what's happening, they prepared me decently enough. I've survived this long, after all.

My manager told me that longest they have guards is usually five or seven nights and they they tend to get real spooked after that. I suppose I'm lucky in that regard, because at the time of writing this, I've gotten through eighteen shifts. It doesn't pay the best, but considering the other options are stripping or drugs, I'll take this. Every night, I fight for my life with nothing but a flashlight and a bear mask.

My reaction times are getting slower though. Last night, I almost didn't realize that the Mangle was near my office door until it was almost too late. I got lucky. I guess that's why I'm writing this. This letter being read means that I'm dead, or close to it. It was probably the rabbit that got me. My timing with it has always been slow. I know most people reading this won't believe me when I say it and those who do believe will be disregarded if they speak openly, but those animatronics are alive. Or haunted. Or some combination. Not just the Mangle or the scrapheap that used to be Bonnie, but the new ones like Toy Freddie and Balloon Boy. I swear I even heard Toy Freddie whispering to me one time. I couldn't tell what it was saying, but it sounded like "Like" or "Mike". Toy Bonnie doesn't seem as violent as his counterpart, he mostly bangs about on his guitar and walks around poking things. I just hope he never comes in here and tries to poke me.

In any case, just know that my death was not a suicide. It was a murder. Tell the police to check the back room and if it's locked, I got a spare key in my righthand desk drawer. Make sure that this building doesn't take anymore lives and for the love of all that is holy, make sure the kerosene is on everything when the investigation is over. Regardless of whether it goes good or bad, burn it. I can't put any kerosene in this envelope, but I did manage to shove a cigarette lighter in here. Use that. Make sure nothing gets out of a back door or window. I don't want anything that's happened here to repeat. This is Jeremy Fitzgerald, signing off.

TRAGEDY AT CHILDREN'S RESTAURANT. GRUESOME SUICIDE BY LOCAL MAN SHAKES COMMUNITY TO CORE.

SUSPECTED SUICIDE RELABELED MURDER. ROBOTS TO BLAME?

LOCAL THEME RESTAURANT BURNS AFTER INVESTIGATIONS ARE INCONCLUSIVE. SUSPECTS STILL AT LARGE.

FAZBEAR ENTERTAINMENT FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY.


End file.
